


K is for Knot

by coolbyrne



Series: The Alphabet Series [11]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bondage, But I do have a trigger warning, Confinement, F/M, Missing Children, no archive warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: The abduction and reappearance of a young girl brings Jack Sloane into the team and Gibbs' life. Alternate First Meeting. Slibbs (Please read warning tags.)
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: The Alphabet Series [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909126
Comments: 68
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As this involves abduction and confinement, please be mindful of the possible triggers.

He had barely stepped into the office when Vance asked, "Where are we on the Davis case?"

Gibbs slowly closed the door behind him. "Abby's going over the clothing and trace. I got Torres and Bishop canvassing the area and McGee's doing a background on the guy who brought her in."

'Her' was 24-year old Sarah Davis, reported missing 2 days after her 13th birthday only to show up wandering outside Falls Church 11 years later, frantic, scared and so slight that the driver who stopped said she felt like a feather in his arms.

"You've had 3 days. I want someone brought in for this," Vance said. "I want a suspect and I want an arrest. Yesterday."

He tried not to bristle at the veiled accusation. "You're not the only one, Leon."

"Captain Davis might not have lived to see his daughter come home, but his wife deserves justice."

He could feel the stress lines form between his brow and he raised his eyebrows to relieve the tension. "And I wanna give that to her. And we're doing everything we can. But we can only work on what we have- doc said Sarah won't be able to be interviewed for at least another day. And even then, she's not sure how much help she'll be able to give."

"That's why I want you to see a friend of mine." Vance scribbled an address on a scrap of paper and held it out.

Gibbs took it and glanced down. "Jack Sloane?"

"Good friend of mine and one hell of a psychologist. Specializes in people who have been kidnapped or held captive. Take the file when you go." He picked up a pen and began going over some paperwork.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows, not for stress but in surprise. Using a source outside the department wasn't uncommon, but allowing a source access to case specifics was unusual. He waited for Leon to look up, but when that look never came, Gibbs took it for the dismissal it was, and left as quietly as he had come in.

…..

The elevator dinged its arrival onto a quiet floor and the thick carpet welcomed his heavy shoes. The floor only had 4 offices, and the one scrawled on the paper was at the farthest end of the hall. He would've knocked, but the door was already ajar, inviting him in. As he stepped inside, he was caught off-guard by the lack of a secretary and the presence of a woman sitting on the couch.

"Lookin' for Jack Sloane," he said by way of greeting.

The blonde pushed her glasses through her hair to rest on her head and smiled at him. Standing, she came around the coffee table and extended her hand. "You must be Special Agent Gibbs," she said brightly. "Oh, that's a handshake!" He looked down at their clasped hands then back to her smile again. She tilted her head at his small scrutiny. "You were expecting a man."

"Yeah, I guess so," he admitted.

"That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

He shook his head. "Never been a problem in the past."

Now it was her turn to scrutinize him. "Oh, I bet it's been some kind of problem. Just not the bad kind." Before he could turn his surprised chuckle into words, she asked, "Can I get you a coffee?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Offering a small pout, she assured him, "It's better than that swill they serve in the coffee shop downstairs."

Her stern judgment piqued his interest. "Yeah, okay."

"Great!" She poured the steaming black liquid into a reusable cup. "You can bring that back the next time you come see me." He blinked at her presumption, but she was already on to the next topic. "Sorry I don't have any cream."

"Don't need it."

"Sugar?"

"I'm sweet enough."

Her laugh was warm and genuine. Handing him the cup, she began pouring an obscene amount of sugar into her drink. "Is _that_ my problem? Hmmm." She gestured to the couch and took a seat at the opposite end. Shifting to face him, she cradled the mug on her knee and asked, "Leon said you're looking for some help on an abduction case?"

"Captivity," he said. The first tentative sip pleased his lips and his taste buds welcomed more. "S'good coffee." Allowing himself a small moment for the first time in days, he took another drink before saying, "Twenty-four year old turned up eleven years after she was kidnapped."

"Jesus," she whispered.

"We're doin' what we can now," he continued, his jaw clenching, "but we're hopin' once Sarah Davis gets cleared by the doctors, that we'll get a chance to talk to her, get somethin' to go on."

"Which is why you've come to see me."

"Leon said you're the best."

She hummed at the compliment but didn't bask in it. "So what do you think?"

"Think it's too early to know. But if I'm only goin' by your coffee, I'd say I'd agree."

He hadn't realized how much he missed a smile over the last few days until he saw hers.

"The case," she gently reprimanded. 

Looking down at the cup, he then lifted his head to look across the room. "I think we don't know much. Our best chance is findin' something on her clothes that could lead us back to her captor."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant; I meant what do you _think_? What does your gut say? Or do you believe in that?"

The question lured out a small smile. "My gut? Yeah. My gut says this guy's done it before and Sarah Davis was just him perfecting the idea."

"So you're cross-referencing suspects who have a criminal history of kidnapping, perhaps sexual assault on minors?" He raised an eyebrow. "Not my first time at the rodeo, Cowboy."

He tilted his head, studying her. "You know Leon from San Diego."

She seemed pleased at his assumption. "Very good. Used to work out of the Naval Station."

"Soldiers with PTSD?"

"Started that way, yes."

"So what brought you here?"

Over her cup, she asked, "Literally or figuratively?"

He shrugged. "Both."

She took a deep breath. "Petty Officer was part of a hazing ritual that went bad. Really, really bad. They took him to a shed behind one of the maintenance bays, tied him up and left him there for the weekend. What they didn't know was that he was claustrophobic."

He muttered a "Shit" under his breath.

"Yeah. When I was asked to help, I realized that the root of the issue is very different from PTSD and that intrigued me. Then I found out over 300,000 people are kidnapped or abducted every year and a little more than half have happy endings." He blinked at the numbers, particularly the ones left over. She nodded at his mental math. "Pretty harrowing, isn't it? But that's why I'm here."

"And literally?"

The minute twitch in her eye was the first sign of vulnerability he had seen, but it was quickly extinguished. 

"Old habits. New start." A quiet comfortable moment settled between them. "So," she went on, "have you had any hits on priors?"

"Nothing with any follow up. We'll start lookin' outside the D.C area next."

"Have you considered looking at it from the other way? You think he's done this before Sarah Davis. Have you considered he's done it since?" His furrowed brow was her answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but held it back until he lifted his cup to encourage her to continue. "She was abducted when she was 13. There's probably a reason she escaped now."

He let the words settle until they formed a picture. "He got lazy because he lost interest in her." His stomach rolled but he went on. "He only wanted her when she was young."

"Prepubescent, early teens. But she hasn't been that way for over 7 years."

"So why's she alive?" 

"You mean, why didn't he kill her?" His face hardened at the words. "I know it's hard to hear it like that, but it's easier in the long run to just be blunt. He abducted her when she was 13 because that's the age he was into. She was fulfilling that requirement until about 18 at the most. There's a number of reasons he didn't kill her- he's using her to care for another victim, or to 'mind the home' in some kind of caretaker role, or he just doesn't have the capacity to murder." Before he had a chance to say it, she said, "I know. But it's a completely different mindset."

The words made sense, even if he didn't like it. "So for him, it's not necessarily a bad thing she escaped. Thinks he can't be caught."

She lifted her cup in his direction. "That's where we come in. Do you know her doctor?"

He pulled out his small notepad and flipped to the page. "Dr. Ramshander. At Children's National, Adolescent Health Center."

Jack nodded. "Makes sense. Even if she's 24, she was abducted at 13. It's going to take some work to see exactly where she is on the age spectrum, mentally, emotionally, physically. And I know Lydia Ramshander. I'll give her a call and see when she thinks Sarah's up for visitors. How's her family holding up?"

"Haven't seen Charlotte since that night. Pretty sure she was in shock. Keith Davis died last year."

"Damn."

"I told him I'd find his daughter."

There was no joy in the statement, only failure, but Jack was having none of it.

"And you did."

"Yeah, a year late."

"You think that matters to Mrs. Davis? Pretty sure if you asked her, time only meant something when her daughter was gone. But now she's back, and the only thing left to find is justice. And again, that's where we come in."

There was something so naturally inviting about her confidence that he felt lighter for it. "Amen to that."

She pushed off the couch and groaned as she stretched. "Let me get you one for the road." Taking his cup, she walked barefoot to the coffee pot. He stood and took the offering as she passed him to her desk. She wrote something on a card before handing it to him. "My cell's on the back. Call me, day or night."

"Are you tryin' to pick me up, Dr. Sloane?"

Pink touched her cheeks as her implication reached her brain. "I didn't mean, I meant about the case. If that's what you mean. Good lord, Jacqueline." She muttered the last sentence under her breath, though his chuckle let her know he heard.

He unclipped his phone from his belt, flipped the lid with his thumb -much to her amusement- and pressed some buttons. Instantly, her phone rang. Grinning, she picked it up, swiped her thumb across and said, "Hello?"

"Now you can call me," he said into the phone. "Day or night." He snapped it shut and returned it to its home. Professionalism immediately sliding back into place, he said, "Call me after you speak to her doctor. I need a timeline to work with." Something in his words sparked a reminder, because he reached into his pocket. "Forgot to give you this," he said, holding up a thumb drive. "The file."

Wrinkling her nose, she asked, "Do you mind if I make hard copies? I like something I can touch, really dig into."

Paper and good coffee. He dared to ask, "You Marine Corps, Sloane?"

The seemingly out of left field question made her pull back and grin. "No. Army."

_Well, two outta three ain't bad._

Without giving an explanation for his question, he raised his cup and said, "Thanks for the coffee."

…..

"Whattya got, Abs?"

She held out her hands at the evidence on the table. There wasn't much more than a nightgown and a pair of shoes.

"This. This is it, Gibbs."

"How about now?" He revealed a large cup from behind his back. 

"Now I have this and a Caf-Pow." She walked over to her computer, knowing he'd follow suit. "Do you recall the forecast for D.C and the surrounding areas 4 days ago?"

The answer explained her frustration. "Rain," he said. 

"Yep. Lots and lots of rain. When the police said she weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, they probably weren't kidding."

"So you really got nothin'?"

Exasperation in her sigh, she said, "I've got trace evidence from the hospital. More than you'd expect, considering the circumstances, so good on them. But right now, it's all superficial. Dirt under her fingernails and in the soles of her shoes matches dirt found in a million places in a 50 mile radius. I found 3 hair samples on her nightgown- 1 matches Sarah Davis but the other 2 aren't in the system." She snapped her fingers. "Speaking of hair, I will say there was an unusually high level of lead in her hair follicle. My guess is from old water taps, but considering how common historical houses are-"

"That could be a million places in a 50 mile radius. Got it."

"I'm going to dig deeper on the lead, see if I can cross-reference it with the area, maybe narrow it down." Her voice was apologetic, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. 

"Lemme know when ya got somethin', Abs."

He was nearly at the door when she asked, "How was the trip to the psychologist?" When he turned in the doorway and raised his eyebrow at the discovery, she shrugged. "You work with a team of the best agents in the country. It's kinda what they do."

"Trip was professional, not personal, so it was good." Abby grinned at his distinction. "She was good." He tilted his head back and forth at the memory. "Nice."

Abby's eyes widened. "'She'? 'Good'? 'Nice'? When's the wedding?"

He didn't dignify the teasing with an answer, and her laughter carried with him to the elevator.

…..

"Where are we with the Good Samaritan?"

The question was barely out of Gibbs' mouth before Tim had the information on the large screen. "Carlos Ruiz, 49. He's been teaching history at St. Mary's High School in Falls Church for the last 25 years. Married his high school sweetheart, they have 2 daughters, ages 18 and 24."

"Same age as Sarah Davis," Torres said. "That had to be tough being the one to find her."

"No criminal record," McGee continued. "Couple of speeding tickets but nothing that would make anyone think he was Sarah Davis' captor."

Gibbs nodded. "How's he doin'?"

"Pretty shook up, but that's to be expected. Wants to know if he can see Sarah once she's better."

"Is she ever going to be 'better'?" Bishop asked. "I mean, how do you get over something like that?"

"Guess that's what the psychologist is for."

Gibbs turned his head to Torres. "Is there anyone in the building who doesn't know about the psychologist?"

Bishop pressed her lips together and hummed. "Maybe Janice in Accounting?"

Nick arched an eyebrow. "Sloane. Jack Sloane. Sounds like James Bond's American brother."

"Sister," Gibbs said, ignoring Nick's interested reaction at the correction, "and she suggests we look into abductions that happened _after_ Sarah Davis'. Thinks maybe he wanted to move on."

"To something younger." All the playfulness was out of Nick's voice and his face hardened.

"Dr. Sloane thinks he might've started to lose interest around 18 or 19."

Tim picked up the trail. "I'll start looking at abductions in the area from the last 6 years. See which girls are still missing."

"What do you want us to do, Gibbs?"

They were just about out of ideas and he knew it. Sloane's suggestion was the only lifeline until they could talk to Sarah. "Go back to the day Sarah was abducted," he told them. "I want every minute from the morning she woke up to the minute she was reported missing accounted for."

"We did that alr-" Bishop saw his look. "But we'll do that again." He stood and gathered his gear. "What about you?"

"I'm going to go talk to Sarah's mother."

…..

His shoes squeaked on the sterile tile and it was just another reason why he hated hospitals. The sound. The smell. The white. The memories. He rounded the corner to the nurses' station when he saw a familiar face. 

"Charlotte."

A woman turned to his voice. "Jethro." She accepted his open arms and stepped into his hug. "Been a long time."

He didn't bother to tell her they had seen each other the night her daughter had been found. He had stood almost where he was now and watched the hospital security hold her back from entering the room. He had stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her from behind, but in comfort, not containment. When she heard him say his name, she collapsed back and sobbed. Considering all she had been through over the last 11 years, he didn't blame her for going into shock that night.

"How you holdin' up?"

"She's good," she replied, stepping back. "I mean, you know. For what she's gone through."

"That's good. But I meant you, Chaz."

The moniker lit a light in her eyes. "Wow. I haven't been called that since-" she frowned at the memory. "Since we moved away. I'm sorry we lost touch, Jethro."

He shrugged away her apology. "It's just life."

She shook her head. "No. Sarah adored you and maybe if she'd been able to keep that relationship with you-"

"This wouldn'tve happened? You know that's not how things work, Chaz. The important thing is, you got her now."

The words, such a foreign concept less than a week ago, brought tears to her eyes and her fingers up to her cheek. 

"Doctor said she can go home today." The realization brought a fresh set of tears, and he held out a handkerchief. "She wants Sarah to talk to someone. A Dr. Sloane. Do you know her?"

He knew the question wasn't literal; she was judging the psychologist's character based on his opinion.

"Not well," he admitted, "but the little I do know, I think she's exactly what Sarah needs right now."

The honesty made Charlotte nod. "Dr. Ramshander asked Sarah if she was up for a visit tomorrow. She agreed."

He struggled to find the right words, wrestled with how to condense a multitude of questions into one. He finally went with, "How's she doin'?" The tone of his voice filled in the gaps of the simple question.

"She's- she's okay? Quiet, but she always was. The best way to describe it would be…distant. And yet when I'm in the room, she doesn't want to let me out of her sight. I don't know what to expect when I take her home."

"She know about Keith?"

"Yeah. First thing she asked for when she saw me." She lowered her head to compose herself, dabbing the handkerchief to her eyes. "I don't know how she's going to deal with it all."

"You'll do it together," he assured, squeezing her shoulder. "But you won't do it alone. You got people who care about you." She nodded. "An' maybe Dr. Sloane can help you, too."

Her head lifted and the ghost of a smile traced her lips. "Is Leroy Jethro Gibbs advocating the benefits of therapy?"

His shoulder shrugged. "Things change, Chaz."

She looked to the door where her daughter was the living embodiment of his words. "Yeah. They do."

…..

He was just settling down to read the paper when his phone buzzed. Having to hold it out to read it made him sigh at the realization he must've left his glasses downstairs. His arm was nearly at full stretch for the words to come into focus.

_Before I type out a long and involved text, I want to make sure your 1999 throwback phone accepts them._

He grinned and pressed a button. Before she had a chance to say 'Hello', he said, "It does." His knees groaned as he stood to make his way to the basement.

"Hey, there! I'm guessing by the call that you don't. Text, I mean."

"Nope."

The old wood stairs creaked under his feet and she must've heard it, because she asked, "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No, just in my basement, lookin' for my glasses."

"Are they on top of your head?"

He reached up and felt the wire frame under his fingers. _Dammit_. "Nope."

Her laugh skipped down the line. "Liar."

"You call to sass me or you have somethin' productive you wanna tell me?"

His attempt at terseness did nothing to lessen her amusement. "First and technically, you called me. Second, I know a lot of men who like my… sass." She purposely paused on the word and he had to bite back a laugh. "Third, yes, I have something 'productive' to tell you."

"You spoke to Lydia Ramshander today and you're going to see Sarah Davis tomorrow." 

There was enough silence on the end that he started to wonder if he'd lost the connection in the basement.

"Well, since you know everything, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Though the threat was clearly a playful one, he felt compelled to say, "Wait," but when his request was met, he faltered for words. He wanted to tell her that it was inexplicably nice to hear her voice. What he ended up saying was, "I spoke to Sarah's mom."

"You knew the family. Before the abduction."

It was a conclusion not a question. Her ability to sift through information to get to the details didn't unnerve him. Yet. 

"You called Mrs. Davis 'Charlotte' when we spoke this morning," she explained. "And everyone else refers to Mr. Davis by his rank. You called him by his first name." She took his silent appreciation as hesitation. "I'm good at what I do, Special Agent Gibbs."

Of that, he had no doubt. Grinning into the phone, he said, "Just 'Gibbs'." He took the stairs two at a time, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and went back to the couch. "Yeah, they used to live in my neighbourhood. Moved to Temple Hills when Sarah was 12. Wanted something quieter and smaller."

"A year later, she gets abducted." She was quiet for a moment. "That's good to know. There's bound to be residual feelings about it, unwarranted guilt that I can help Mrs. Davis through, if she'll let me."

"I told her she should talk to you."

"Wow. You haven't even seen my methods yet and you're already recommending me."

He rested his head back. "Don't have to see your methods to know you're good at your job."

"That gut thing, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that."

His eyes closed and his breathing slowed. Her voice was warm and low.

"When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"1989." He welcomed her laugh into his chest.

"Then I should definitely let you go," she said. "Do you have a fireplace?"

The question appeared out of the blue, but he replied, "Yeah."

"Good. I want you to go have a shower. As hot as you can, then bring it down to cool. Get into your favourite grey sweatpants and some Marine hoodie you no doubt have." She couldn't see his eyebrows rise at her unknown accuracy. "Then fluff that pillow you have on your couch, stoke the fire, and lie down. Let the flames put you to sleep. You'll be out in 15 minutes."

He grunted at the idea. "Sounds like New Age crap."

"Or maybe you're just an old dog." He could hear her smile through the phone, but before he had a chance to retort, she asked, "Just tell me one thing? Were the glasses on your head?"

"'Night, Sloane."

"Ha! I knew-"

He snapped the phone shut and tapped it against his chest.

…..

He was asleep in 12 minutes.

…..

If he came into the bullpen the next morning looking more rejuvenated than he had in weeks, no one said. 

"Whatta we got, McGee?"

Tim's fingers instantly began typing. "Ran the database for all missing girls between the ages of 10 and 15 taken within 100 miles of Sarah Davis' abduction in the last 7 years. Boss, these numbers-"

"I know, McGee. Work through it."

"Right. Well, out of the 2000 kids that go missing in the area every year, about 3% are never found. Multiply that by 7 years and we've got over 400 missing kids. I've cross-referenced keywords in each case and found 184 of them that have something in common with Sarah Davis."

"Divide them up," he said. "Go through them with a fine tooth comb. Find anything that might connect them."

"It's a shot in the dark, Boss."

He nodded. "I know. But a shot in the dark's all we got right now." He looked at two empty desks. "Where are they?" 

Right on cue, the pair emerged from the elevator.

"Sorry," Bishop said. "The juice bar didn't have Princess Nick's favourite fruit."

"How do you run out of papaya? It's like the most popular fruit after orange."

"In Torres World." She handed a coffee to Tim and was surprised when Gibbs got to his feet and swooped his cup out of her hand on his way to the elevator. "We have a case?"

"Only the Davis one," he said. "Talk to Tim. I'm on my way to see a psychologist."

…..

They met along the street leading up to the house, though it was clear she had beat him there based on the way she was leaning against the smallest car he'd ever seen. She was brandishing two cups of coffee and a smile.

"Have you had one already?" she asked, holding up a cup.

He came to stand in front of her until their toes nearly touched. "Yep."

"Oh, well then you won't need-" He stopped her from turning back to her car by curling his fingers over hers, enveloping both her hand and the cup. Her laughter sketched lines around her eyes that were bright and inviting. He found himself easily caught in the kaleidoscope of browns and ambers that looked back. "You'll have to let go of my hand if you want the prize."

The low seductive tease made her lips twitch upward and he tried to pretend he was unamused. That ploy only made her smirk more. He never had the tables turned on him so quickly. Brushing his fingers against hers, he let go even as he tried to regain the upper hand. 

"Gimme the damn coffee, Jack."

She relented, but not before giving him a knowing wink. "So here's the plan," she said, slipping right into professionalism. "I'm going to talk with Sarah, if she'll let me, and we'll see how that turns out."

"That's it?"

"What were you expecting?"

He took a moment to appreciate the coffee by taking a drink. "No notes, no plan."

"I just told you the plan. Ah, you mean, what kind of questions am I going to ask. What direction will I take the session." He shrugged. "Gibbs, it's the first time I'm meeting this girl. Take away all the hell she's been through and you're still left with 2 strangers meeting for the first time. Getting her to talk will be my only focus today. What she talks about will be entirely up to her."

"I need-"

"I know what you need." Though the words lacked any seduction or teasing, her warm hand on his wrist tickled a feeling in his stomach. "You need answers. You probably won't get them today."

He understood the process even if he didn't like it. "What can I do?"

Her voice was sympathetic. "Sit in your car and enjoy your coffee and I'll fill you in when I'm done." The surprise at his banishment from the house reflected in his eyes. "Gibbs, we don't know how she reacts to men. Yes, she knew you, but it's been 11 years of reprogramming and in all likelihood, mental self-preservation. The fact she recognized her mother is a huge victory." Again, his expression was an understanding one, outlined in frustration. "You _can_ do one thing for me- call my phone in 30 minutes." He hadn't realized her hand was still on his wrist until she subconsciously brushed a finger along his watch band. "Trust me on this, okay?"

"It _is_ good coffee."

She smiled at his acceptance. "My car's closer, if you want."

His eyes skimmed over the matchbox, and the image he had of his knees up to his chin must've crossed her mind, too, because she smiled broadly before making her way across the street to the house.

…..


	2. Chapter 2

…..

The door opened to reveal a woman who was very apparently trying to put on a brave face. Jack held out her hand, using her smile to dispel the tension.

"You must be Jacqueline Sloane," the woman said, returning the handshake. "Jethro speaks highly of you."

Jack filed away the compliment for a later examination. "Please, just call me 'Jack'. You're Mrs. Davis?"

"Yes. 'Charlotte' is fine. I mean, you can call me 'Charlotte'." The two women stood on either side of the door for several seconds until Charlotte shook her head as if waking from a dream. "I'm so sorry. Please, come in."

Jack stepped inside and took a look around. "Is that California Ghostwood?" she asked, her eyes on the piece of driftwood on the fireplace mantel. 

"Yes," Charlotte replied, surprise in her voice. "Keith and I got married on the beach in San Diego. We've dragged it everywhere we've moved." Jack's guess made her ask, "Are you from California?"

"Believe it or not, San Diego. Well, San Diego via a bunch of places in between that started with Philadelphia." The nomadic memory brought a smile to her face and it seemed to put Charlotte at ease. "How are you doing?"

"She's-" Charlotte stopped herself and bowed her head. "Jethro did the same thing- asked about me first and I went right into talking about Sarah."

"Because most people are asking about her. Understandable. But it's important you're doing as best as the situation allows, too."

She nodded. "Thank you. I'm- I'm veering between complete breakdown and absolute euphoria, if I'm honest."

"And that's completely normal. If you want to talk, I'm here for both of you."

"Thank you. I- she's in the kitchen."

Jack followed her into the brightly lit room with its blue hues and felt immediately at home. She may not have known it, but Charlotte had chosen the perfect place to talk, and even the girl who had gone through everything, who now sat at the table, looked comforted by it. A German Shepherd got to its feet at Sarah's side to examine the new arrival. Jack looked down and softly said, "Hey, there." Meeting its approval, the dog sat down again.

"Sarah," her mother said, "this is-" 

"'Jack'," she said, jumping in to support Charlotte's uncertainty at the appropriate label. "You can call me 'Jack', if you want." She looked at the nearest chair. "Is it okay if I sit?" Sarah nodded, and she took a seat.

"Can I get you anything?" Charlotte asked. "Coffee? Tea?"

"I would love a coffee." She watched Sarah's eyes follow her mother to the counter where she poured a cup and brought over cream and sugar. "Just sugar, thanks."

"Should I stay or-?"

Jack glanced across the table. "Whatever Sarah wants is good with me." She knew that giving her the chance to make the decisions, whether it be letting a stranger sit at the table or allowing her mother to stay, was important to re-introduce back into the young woman's life, a life that Jack suspected held little choice over the last decade.

"Stay, Mom."

"Okay, sweetheart."

The woman sat and they both watched as Jack poured sugar into her coffee. It was enough for even Sarah to murmur, "Wow."

Looking up from her spoon, Jack made a face. "I know." She tapped the utensil against the ceramic lip. "I have a friend who doesn't take any sugar. He says it's because he's sweet enough." She rolled her eyes. "I don't think that's fair- I think I'm very sweet, but whatever." This got a small smile from Sarah and Jack knew it was the first step to making a connection. "That's a beautiful dog you have." She could see Sarah's hand automatically drop down to rest on the animal's head.

"His name is 'Ben'. He was just a puppy before-" She looked down at the table. "I didn't think he'd remember me."

"Of course he'd remember you," Jack assured her. "When they love someone, they don't forget."

"Do you have a dog?"

She shook her head. "No, but when I was in the Army, my unit would often have to go to some dodgy parts of Afghanistan where we'd have to call the bomb team in. You know, to check the area, make sure it was safe. There was this guy and his dog, beautiful black lab named 'Dodger', they'd come and sniff the area for bombs. Well, the dog did." She smiled at the imagery and so did Sarah. "Anyway, the very first time I met Dodger, I gave him some of my beef jerky. That dog never forgot, even if I only saw him a handful of times. Would run right up to me, tail wagging like crazy, nudging my hand with his head." Jack mimicked the motion, and it got another small smile from Sarah. "His handler said he'd never seen the dog react like that to anyone else. But we must've made some kind of connection. It was nice. A really nice break from some tough times."

Sarah seemed to contemplate the words. "You were in the Army?"

"Yep. Lieutenant."

"My dad was a captain in the Marines." Her voice trailed off at the reminder of the loss.

"I've heard good things about him," Jack said, careful to steer her away from the negative. "I bet you have great stories to tell about him. What's your favourite memory?"

Sarah tapped the handle of her mug and looked into her dark drink. The wisp of a smile began to form. "Once a month, we'd volunteer our time at the foodbank and Dad would take me to Sweetie Pies to get a treat." Her eyes glanced over at her mom who just shook her head.

"I knew you two were up to no good." The accusation was a gentle one, punctuated with a smile.

"Is that the shop in Georgetown?" Jack asked. "I've been dying to go there. Just haven't had the time since I moved."

"Where are you from?" Sarah asked.

"Everywhere," she replied, condensing the answer she had given Charlotte. "But my last stop was San Diego."

The name sparked a recognition in Sarah's eyes. "Mom and Dad were married there. They took me to the beach where they got married."

Guiding her into talking about good things had opened up the doors for a collection of memories that put both daughter and mother at ease. They barely noticed how much time had passed until Jack's phone buzzed. 

"I'm sorry," she said, "let me get this quick."

"Hey."

She smiled at his terse opening. "Hey, thanks for calling. I'll be there shortly." Her thumb swiped the phone off and she apologized. "Sorry. Just a friend I haven't seen in a long time." She held up the phone to show the previous caller. "'Leroy Jethro Gibbs'. What a mouthful, huh?"

Sarah's entire expression changed at the name. Her eyes widened and tears formed. "Mr. Gibbs?"

Though she knew the answer, Jack let her offer the information. "Do you know him? To be honest, I only really know him from work, but he seems very nice."

"He is," she agreed wholeheartedly. "He used to call me 'Sprout'." She smiled at a private memory even as a tear dropped to the table. 

Jack pretended to give some time to a thought before she said, "Listen, I have an idea. First, I would love to come back tomorrow and talk to you some more, if that's okay?" Sarah looked up and nodded. "Second, what would you think about me bringing Mr. Gibbs?"

Her eyes went from Jack to her mother and back again, but the joy that had spontaneously bloomed across her face was quickly extinguished. "He won't remember me."

"Are you implying he's not as smart as your dog?" 

Jack's tone brought a laugh bubbling to the surface and Sarah shook her head. "He's very smart."

"Your dog or Mr. Gibbs?" She let her know the question was in jest with a smile and a slow reach across the table. Sarah hesitated, then met the offer with a tentative reach of her own and they both squeezed hands. "Sarah, I spoke to him about you before I came and the first thing he asked was when he could see you." She felt the young woman squeeze harder. "So can I tell him he can come visit tomorrow?"

Sarah looked at her mom who replied, "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

Getting the green light, she nodded at Jack. "I'd like that."

"He'll be so happy." She gave one last squeeze before standing. "We did really well today. I'm glad you let me sit with you, Sarah. Same time tomorrow?" There was a silent agreement in nods. Jack reached over to give the dog a rub. "Then I'll see you tomorrow, Ben."

Charlotte was just about to walk Jack to the door when Sarah said, "Why is no one asking me about Kayla?"

Jack froze but steeled her expression before turning to the question. "We're doing everything we can to find her," she said, hoping Sarah wouldn't see through the ruse. "But I want you to focus on you right now, okay? Trust us to handle the rest."

The facade must've worked because Sarah closed her eyes and whispered, "Okay."

"Okay. If you want, we can talk about it tomorrow. Or you can tell embarrassing stories about Mr. Gibbs, because I'm pretty sure you've got some. Your choice."

The choice lifted some of the anxiousness that had shrouded Sarah at the mention of Kayla. "He's really going to come?"

"I promise."

At the door and just out of Sarah's earshot, Charlotte whispered, "Who's Kayla?"

Jack made the same choice with her as she had done with Charlotte's daughter; rather than admit she didn't know, she steered them towards their own self-care. "Let us worry about that, okay? We may talk about it tomorrow, but in the meantime, keep encouraging her to remember good things. It's a reminder that she had a life before all this, and then we can start talking about life being good again."

"Okay." Jack opened the door but stopped when she felt Charlotte's hand on her arm. "I just wanted to say thank you. It was nice to see her smile again."

"My pleasure, Charlotte, it really is. Maybe you can tell me 1 or 2 embarrassing Gibbs stories yourself."

She flashed a smile that was so reminiscent of her daughter's. "I may have a few."

…..

He was out of the car before her feet touched the sidewalk. His long frame leaned against the fender and he was a model of broadness and strength.

_Careful, Jacqueline_ , she whispered. 

It had been a long time since she had looked at a man that way, an eon since a man had brought her flirty side out to play. She knew he'd be someone to trust when Leon first called, because she knew her old friend would be mindful of her past and careful with his recommendations. What she hadn't expected was to trust him so quickly, to fall into an ease she had thought would never return. Even now, despite the reason for their meeting outside his car, his eyes looked at her with professional expectancy and personal interest, the blues reflecting hues of steel and the sea. 

She put on her own professional mask for what she was about to tell him. Before he had a chance to speak, she said, "Tell your team to look for a missing girl named Kayla. Most likely recent."

Without hesitation, he flicked out his phone. "McGee, a 'Kayla' come up anywhere in missing persons?" There was a slight pause. "I'm finishing up here." 

"You don't ever say 'goodbye', do you?" she asked, watching him snap his phone shut.

"Nope. Got a hit on 2 Kaylas, 1 in Maryland and 1 in Virginia. McGee's gonna follow up." He glanced in the house's direction. "How they doin'?"

Her gaze followed his. "Considering what they've both been through? Incredibly well. I think we'll see some problems crop up as she starts to realize this is her life now. A lot of anger will come to the surface. But she's so strong, Gibbs. They both are." Turning her attention back to him, she said, "She asked about you, you know? Sarah." 

Pain flickered briefly in the lines around his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. She asked if you could sit in with our talk tomorrow. If you're up for it."

"I'm up for it." He looked at her. "She say anything else? About what happened?"

She shook her head. "She didn't drop that Kayla thing on me until I was nearly out the door. Asked why no one asked her about it. I pretended we already knew and were on it."

He hummed. "You were right. About him taking another girl _after_ Sarah."

"I don't get any joy out of it."

"I know."

For a second, she let her guard down, the weight of the revelation of a second victim dropping her head.

"Hey," he said, his voice warm and safe, "I've only had 2 coffees today. Fallin' behind on my quota. Let me take you somewhere. If you got the time."

Somehow, inexplicably, she thought, she'd always find the time for him. "Yeah, okay. Sounds good."

"I'll drive slow to make sure your little car can keep up."

…..

When he pulled under an overpass to a small diner tucked away from the road, she was barely surprised. She may not have known him for more than a day, but when she saw it, she knew it was him all over. He waited for her to come around the truck and they entered the diner together, and she enjoyed the gentle jangle the bells made over her head. He led her to a booth halfway down the windowed wall, bypassing the counter stools that she suspected he used when he came alone. His chivalry made him wait for her to sit, and he had barely taken the seat opposite her when a waitress materialized at the table.

"Agent Gibbs," she said, putting down 2 white ceramic mugs. "I know it's a 'yes' for him," she told Jack as she began pouring coffee in one mug, "but how about you?"

"Oh, yes, please."

"And all the sugar packs ya got, Elaine."

She shot him a look. "Whatever," though she was glad to see the waitress drop a handful onto the table with a wink.

"Two of the usual," he said, looking up, and Elaine nodded. 

"Coming right up, Handsome."

"Two of the usual," Jack repeated. "You don't even know what I want." His smirk at her unintended suggestion brought pink to her cheeks. "Don't be an ass."

He took a drink of his coffee, bitter and black. "You're not the only one who can get into someone's head, Doc." The moniker swept a shadow across his face that didn't go by unnoticed.

"I'm not the first head doctor in your life."

"No." 

She wasn't sure if it was an answer to her observation or a quiet warning, so she chose a different path. "How long were you in the Marines?"

"What makes you think I was in the Marines?"

"Because you asked me if I was in the Corps. And no one cares if you were in the Marine Corps except Marines."

Her blatant jab made his mouth drop just enough for him to shift his jaw to the side and let out a one-note chuckle. "How long were you in the Army?"

She took his topic change in stride. "Long enough to know I needed to get out." His head tilt encouraged more and with a sigh, she relented. "Over a decade, in and out of war zones trying to work with local insurgents against the Taliban encroachment. Learning the mindsets, trying to counter years of mental programming."

Her phrasing made him pause. "PsyOps?"

"Yep. Didn't start that way, but it was something the Army offered and I didn't know it was something I wanted to do until I did it." His face went blank and she couldn't figure out what she had said to make it go that way. "Something wrong?"

"Nope." 

"No, there's something. And if it's going to affect our working relationship, I'd like to know." When the silence remained, she sat back and narrowed her eyes. It only took her a minute to draw her conclusions. "Let me guess. She got into your head then into your pants and boy, you didn't like that, did you? I mean, you probably liked the 'in your pants' part, you're a guy after all." She ignored the way his eyes went wide. "But she got into your head more times than she allowed you into hers and that got under your skin, didn't it?" She tried to curb her annoyance at being compared to a woman she'd never met and was glad to see the waitress approach over Gibbs' shoulder. "Well, don't worry, I'm not interested in getting into your pants and I'll only get into your head when I need to." She plastered a smile on her face at the arrival of the food. "So this is the usual, huh?" she asked Elaine.

"Bacon double cheeseburger with fries," she beamed. "I bring the coleslaw even though this one never eats it. But hope springs eternal that one day he'll eat something green. I'll be right back with a top up."

The rest of the lunch was in silence.

…..

"Kayla Reade, age 14 from Easton, went missing June 3rd, 2019. Kayla Porsic, 13, went missing from her home in Fairfax in May of 2016." Tim flashed the information on the screen the second Gibbs entered the bullpen. 

Bishop held up two folders. "We've compared their cases with Sarah Davis, but haven't found anything that connects them."

"Abby's still working on trying to pinpoint the lead content found on Sarah," Torres offered. "Did she say anything else when you talked to her?"

"I didn't. The psychologist talked to her."

Torres grinned. "Right. Sloane. Jack Sloane." His cough covered the glare he got in return. "So she didn't say anything?"

"Only mentioned Kayla right at the end. Hopin' she'll have somethin' more to say tomorrow." He moved some papers around on his desk. "Torres, Bishop, go talk to the LEOs involved in the Reade case. McGee-"

"I'll have a talk with the locals who investigated the Porsic disappearance." The three agents gathered their supplies, but Tim stayed back for a brief moment as Nick and Ellie started for the elevator. "Boss, when I went through the Davis case, I noticed-"

The silence made Gibbs lift his eyes from the computer. "Spit it out."

"The Davis' lived across the street from you a year before they moved and Sarah was abducted." Now the silence came from Gibbs even if his expression spoke volumes. "Figured you knew them, that's all. I just want to make sure you're okay on this."

"I'll be okay once we find the second girl."

"I understand. I'll let you know what I find."

He watched his best agent and in many ways, his best friend jog to meet Torres and Bishop, and waited until the elevator doors closed before he sat back and pressed his palms to his eyes. The lunch with Sloane had remained strained up to and including him walking her to her car, and he couldn't pretend he didn't know why. If calling her 'Doc' hadn't been bad enough, connecting her to 'PsyOps' immediately brought images and feelings of Sam Ryan to mind he had thought he'd long repressed. He knew it wasn't fair to Jack who knew nothing of Sam, and it wasn't fair to his own feelings to connect a woman he barely knew to a woman who had left him standing alone in an office while she walked out of his life. Besides, his gut told him the women had little in common beyond their expertise, even if his heart was working furiously to shut up shop. 

_Doesn't matter now_ , he thought. The way the colour of her eyes muted told him he had made a mess of things. _Screwed it up before it even started. That's gotta be a new record, even for you, Gunny._

He vigorously rubbed his hands over his face and got back to work.

…..

"We might have something on the Porsic case," Tim announced as he turned the corner to his desk. "She was taken on her way home from a friend's. Though witnesses couldn't agree on what colour car they saw, it was either white, silver or grey."

"All light colours," Gibbs mused.

"Right. And it fits the Davis abduction in that she was taken near her home. Not in a public place and not somewhere busy."

"Torres called. They didn't put it in the report, but the LEOs are working on a case against Kayla Reade's uncle. Nothing came up on the uncle that matched anything on the Davis case."

"The area doesn't fit either, when you think about it. Sarah in Temple Hills, Kayla in Fairfax? Those are only 30 minutes away from Falls Church, where Sarah was found. Easton's over 2 hours away."

"Which is why I told Bishop to go home when they get back."

"What do you want me to do?"

Gibbs inhaled deeply. "Go home, Tim. Give the twins a hug. Tomorrow, start pullin' surveillance in the area Kayla was taken. I want this car found before the day's over. I'm goin' to sit in with Jack tomorrow. Sarah asked to see me."

The weight of the simple words were heavy, and Tim commiserated with a nod. "At least she's alive, Boss. We don't always get that ending."

Gibbs conceded the point with a nod of his own and began to collect his things.

…..

He was surprised to find that she had beaten him to the address the next morning, and managing the 2 cups of coffee in one hand, he opened the door with the other and stepped out of the car. The mornings were getting cooler and she faced the chill with a camel-coloured coat that met the dark brown boots that came up just under her knees. Her hair curled around her neck and pooled at her shoulders and he thought she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

_Jesus, Marine_ , he inwardly scoffed.

Still, he had felt badly for what had happened at the diner, and her smile did nothing to alleviate the guilt. His outstretched hand offered her the coffee before he'd even gotten close.

"My hero," she said, taking the peace offering for what it was while using her response as a forgiving gesture. "From the diner?"

"Yep."

"Mmmmm." Her eyes closed as she inhaled the aroma through the small hole. "That's the best damn coffee I've ever had."

"Yep."

Her eyes opened to see his looking right at her. "So are you ready for this?"

"Whatever she needs."

Like the day before, she subconsciously reached out for his wrist. "I just want you to be prepared. She wants to see you, but the reality might be too much. So don't be surprised if she reacts badly. On the other hand, you might be the spark she needs to accept this is all real."

He only repeated his words with extra conviction. "Whatever she needs."

Tugging at his coat cuff, she said, "Okay. Let's go."

…..

She needn't have worried, because the second Sarah looked up from the table and saw Gibbs, she stood and ran into his open arms.

"It's the first time she's cried since she saw Ben," Charlotte whispered to Jack. "She didn't even cry when I told her about her dad."

"It's because seeing Ben and seeing Gibbs are reminders of what life was like before all this happened. In her mind, she probably thought she'd already lost her parents, and in some ways, she was prepared for it. But she wasn't prepared to see 2 old friends."

On cue, the dog scrambled to his feet to see what the fuss was all about. He looked at Gibbs with a blend of confusion and recognition.

"Is that Ben?" Gibbs asked.

Sarah pulled back. "Yeah."

"I remember when you got him for your birthday," he said, reaching down to rub the dog's head. "You grew up, boy." He looked at Sarah and framed her face with his hands. "So did you, Sprout."

The name brought on a fresh set of tears that she tried to wipe away. "I'm sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry for. Come on, let's sit down before my coffee gets cold."

"Never mess with a Marine's coffee," she recited. 

He winked at her as he sat on her right. Jack took the seat beside him, and Charlotte turned towards the counter.

"I'll make some more."

"So how did you feel yesterday after I left?" Jack asked.

"Uh, tired? But lighter. Does that make sense?"

"It sure does. And how do you feel now?"

"Happy to see Mr. Gibbs, but a little nervous about what we're going to talk about."

"Don't be," Jack assured her. "You're in control of the conversation. Stop anytime you want. Maybe tell one of those embarrassing stories you said you had of Gibbs if you feel you need to take a break."

"Embarrassing stories?" He tilted his head at Sarah who smiled even as she wiped away another tear. 

Jack grinned and waited for the moment to settle before saying, "I heard you had a visit with a sketch artist. How did that go?"

Sarah offered a shrug. "Okay, I guess. She was really good. Will you be able to find him?"

"We're gonna do everything we can," Gibbs promised. "You did good."

Sarah's chest rose and fell with a deep, brave breath. "I know you want me to talk about what happened. Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever you want to start. How about the very beginning? Do you remember that day?"

The room went silent. Even the dog seemed to go quiet.

Sarah closed her eyes, but her voice was strong. "I was walking along Cedar to go to the mall. I was supposed to meet up with Krista and Jessie to go see the Harry Potter movie. I, uh, a car came up and the window rolled down. A man asked me if I could help him find his dog. I wasn't stupid; I just kept walking. I was texting Krista to tell her what was happening, then I tripped." Her brows came down. "I missed the curb and fell. That's when he grabbed me." Her hand blindly came out and Gibbs caught it. 

Charlotte held back a sob.

"You're doing great," Jack said. "I know this is going to be hard, but don't fight the memories- the more you let yourself face them, the easier it gets. What are some of the first things that come to mind when you let yourself remember?"

She saw her squeeze Gibbs' hand tightly, but when he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, she took in a deep breath to answer the question.

"The milk was always super cold," she began. Hearing her own words, she opened her eyes and shook her head. "Is that stupid?"

"No, it's not," Jack replied. 'That's just how the mind works."

She contemplated the thought before saying, "It always smelled like grease or oil. The place. Him." She took another breath. "And the rope was itchy." Without realizing it, she reached to the hand she had intertwined with Gibbs and scratched her wrist at a phantom itch. "He- he tied me up at night, to the bed. One hand and then the other."

Though Gibbs' face remained impassive, Jack could feel the anger roll off him, and she discreetly laid her hand on his thigh. 

Unaware of what was happening outside her field of vision, Sarah continued, "I remember other things, but they're all a jumble. You'd think I'd never forget a single second." 

For the first time, Jack heard an edge in the girl's voice. Reaching across with her free hand, she said, "You haven't forgotten, it's just your brain's way of protecting you until you're ready." She made sure she had the girl's attention before continuing, "I won't lie to you- there will be times when it will be a hell of a lot harder than it is right now. It might happen today. Maybe next month. Hell, it could be 10 years from now. You'll hear a word or a song, or you'll smell something and it will jar your memory and you'll think, 'Why in the world am I remembering this?? And why am I remembering it now?' But that's when your brain thinks you're ready." She looked down at her hand laid over Sarah's. "And it's okay to react the way you do- maybe you'll be angry or sad or even indifferent. There's no right way to react." She looked up. "I wholeheartedly support yelling into the ocean or your pillow. I _definitely_ recommend getting a punching bag." Her smile lifted the words.

"You- this happened to you," Sarah said.

Jack swallowed. She wasn't sure this was something she wanted to get into with a very attentive man at her side, but she knew it wasn't about him or them or even her; it was about helping the brave but scared young woman across the table. 

"Nothing like your experience, but yes, I was held captive. Nine months in Afghanistan."

"What happened?"

Jack tried to delay her response with a shrug, but knew a reply was inevitable. "My unit got lured into a trap and we were all taken hostage. It- didn't end well. To this day, the smell of vanilla makes me stop in my tracks." She frowned. "I don't know why, because it's not like we were held in a nice place, you know? It was one of a hundred caves in the mountains. Damp. Dark. But it must have been something one of my captors wore or drank that just lingers with me. That was over 10 years ago." She felt Gibbs' hand on hers under the table.

"You can't tell," Sarah said. "When I look at you, I can't tell."

"That's because it took a lot of work to make me realize I could move on. I would never be the person I was before it happened. But that didn't mean I couldn't be _a_ person, maybe even a better person. I try to think about who I am now, not who I was then. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She slid her hand away from Sarah and sat back, letting the air fill the space around the table. 

As she went to grab her coffee, Charlotte said, "Let me fill that up for you." She came back with the coffee pot and the sugar bowl and the memory made Sarah smile.

Gibbs caught the twitch and said, "So you've seen this before?" he asked, tilting his head at Jack's sugar consumption as Charlotte filled his cup.

Jack lifted her chin with pride and defiance. "I regret nothing."

"Hey, Mr. Gibbs- remember when you dressed up like a clown for Stacey's birthday party?"

"Nope," he said, though it was obvious to everyone that he did.

Sarah grinned. "It was her 6th birthday and all she wanted was a circus party. So Mr. and Mrs. Collata did the whole backyard up and hired a clown but the clown got sick?" She turned to her mom for verification.

"I think the story was, his car broke down along the way."

"His clown car?" Jack laughed.

"Oh, I never thought of that," Sarah replied. "That would've been so funny!"

Jack slid her gaze to her left. "But not as funny as Gibbs in a clown suit, I bet."

"You were adorable with that red nose and those big feet," Charlotte admitted.

"The kid woulda been heartbroken," Gibbs groused, feigning annoyance at being the centre of attention. 

"You're a good person, Mr. Gibbs."

Jack could see his eyes become a watery blue.

"You too, Sprout. You, too."

…..

The walk to her car was a silent one, and he waited at her side until she dug the keys out of her pocket. 

"You wanna go for coffee?" 

Her hair covered her downcast face as she pretended to fan through the keys for the right one. He fought the urge to brush it out of the way.

"I want to go take a shower," she said, her voice devoid of any lightness. "Can I ask for a raincheck?"

"You can ask for anything you want." The softness in his voice surprised them both.

"You trying to get into _my_ pants, Agent Gibbs?"

He mirrored her small smile. "I shouldn'tve said that. In the diner. Not fair to you." 

"No, it wasn't. But I get it. We all do it. God knows I've compared enough men to- to things they have no control over." She exhaled sharply. "So I'm going to go have a shower. What are you going to do?"

"Catch this bastard."

In a habit he'd come to expect, she placed her hand flat on his chest under the pretense of fixing his collar, as if she wrapped up her need to touch in her goodbyes. 

"Did you find anything on the Kayla Sarah mentioned?"

"We're lookin' into a disappearance of a girl in Fairfax. Kayla Porsic. I'll have McGee send you what we've got."

"I'd like that, thank you." Finding no other reason to maintain their contact, she patted his chest and turned to open her door. 

He reached around her to hold it open, and surprised himself by searching for his own reason to draw out their connection. Waiting for her to belt herself in, he leaned into the small space and said, "Come to the Yard if you find anything. Or even if you don't." He tapped the roof and stepped back without another word, and he watched her smile and drive away.

…..

It was the last smile he saw that day, the rest of the hours filled with leads that went nowhere and theories that fell short of their target. His frustration was such that when dinner rolled around, he stood, gave Tim a look and left the bullpen, knowing that when he returned, Torres and Bishop would be gone. McGee lingered behind as he always did, the caretaker and stalwart right hand, but Gibbs sent him home.

"We start from the very beginning tomorrow." It was a threat, a promise and a sigh all rolled into one.

Tim nodded, turned off his desk lamp and left.

Gibbs stayed for an hour longer, his brain itching, the case niggling, his eyes going to the elevator every time it opened. He wondered if a whole lot of his mood had to do with not just the absence of leads and theories and facts, but of a certain blonde.

…..


	3. Chapter 3

…..

The wood was smooth under his care. Long, slow strokes starting at his waist and ending at his shoulders skimmed thin wooden wisps until they built a pile of curls at his feet. The basement was cool except for a space heater in the corner, big enough to give some warmth but small enough not to dry the air and crack the wood. The sound and the repetition soothed him, but not enough to sand the small burr that still hovered on the edge of his thoughts. After an hour that ended with good work but an irritated mind, he threw down the planer and glared at his phone. He flipped it open and squinted at the buttons, stubbornly refusing to find his glasses, bargaining with himself that if he couldn't do it without the help, he wouldn't do it. He wasn't even sure he had done it at all until it vibrated in his hand.

"Three letters," she said without any preamble. "Is that your monthly texting quota?"

He covered his pride at managing 'U OK' by quipping, "I'm 1 letter over." Her laugh brought the peace he had been searching for all night.

"Sorry I didn't make it over today-"

He cut her off, not needing to hear the reason, knowing full well how memories could sneak up on a person. "You don't gotta apologize, Jack." He ran his thumb along the boat's edge to distract him from what he was about to say. "Can come over now, if you want."

"You're still at work?"

"No. Home." His thumb found a rough patch and he frowned. "You drink whiskey, Sloane?"

"Does the Pope wear a funny hat?"

He laughed and it felt good. "Got a small batch blend I haven't cracked open yet."

The silence was expected but not uncomfortable. He had just invited her over to what was essentially a stranger's house, under the pretense of drinking her problems away for the night. So he wasn't surprised when she said, "Gibbs, it's almost midnight."

Had he heard a reluctance in her voice, he would've let it go. But the response was half-hearted and he ignored the smile that began to inch across his face. "You sleeping?" Her laughter was in place of 'Bastard', he was sure, and while he had the chance, he rattled off his address. "Key's under the mat. I'm downstairs." As was his way, he snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the work table, pretending he wasn't thinking what he'd do if she accepted the offer. Grabbing some sandpaper, he tried to focus on the boat's small imperfection instead.

…..

She looked at the phone in her hand and couldn't help but laugh, the first light moment she had since she had left the Davis' home. Bringing up her own experiences had hit her harder than she had anticipated and the day had gone heavy. Images of the torment and the torture flashed across her mind every time she closed her eyes, and her back itched with phantom burns. She had told Sarah there would be seemingly normal sounds and smells that would forever trigger memories, but for her, there were sensory sparks she'd likely never encounter again that would never leave her mind. The mix of urine and sweat, the taste of blood and sand. They flooded her mind on the way back to work, and she was glad for the clear afternoon schedule, because all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and forget the day. Instead, she went home and took some of the advice she had given Sarah and punished the punching bag she had hanging in the corner. 

Still, she felt restless and unsettled. Until his call. She had seen the compassion in his eyes when he closed her car door and she had tried to use that as a focal point during the day when the memories crept up on her again. She sighed and wondered what she thought the long term plan was with her and this man who came into her life 2 days ago but sat down in her heart like he had known her forever.

_Forget the long term, Jacqueline. What's the plan now?_

Looking down at her sweatpants and T-shirt, she nearly talked herself out of it, until she chastised herself for using her clothing as a flimsy excuse. He had offered, unprompted. Hell, the man had attempted to text her. The least she could do was accept.

_That's even flimsier_ , she inwardly remarked, even as she got up to throw on her shoes and a jacket.

…..

It wasn't until she pulled up into his driveway that she realized she knew nothing about him beyond the superficial. Sure, she suspected his nobility and loyalty, knew of his compassion and gentleness, but sitting outside a two-storey house, she didn't even know if he was married. But if the phone call hadn't given her a clue about his relationship status, the inside of the house did the job. With the key in her palm, she stood in the entranceway of a home that hadn't seen the touch of a woman in at least 2 decades. Closing the door softly behind her, she placed the key on a nearby table and smiled into the living room. Between the furniture, the bookshelves and the walls, there wasn't a speck of colour that veered out of the shade of brown, except the blanket that was neatly folded on the back of the couch. She silently congratulated herself for being right about his sleeping arrangements and took a moment to crouch in front of the fire that she hoped had lulled him to sleep. Everything was neat, tidy and utilitarian, right now to the oldest TV she'd seen since she was a teenager. Her casual perusal was interrupted by a sound that came through the kitchen, and she stood to follow it. The coffee aroma wafted to her nose and she was almost tempted to pour some in the cup he had left beside the bag of sugar, complete with spoon. She shook her head at his quiet sarcasm, but bypassed the offering, choosing instead to go to the door where the sound had originated.

As she stepped onto the landing, her eyes adjusted to the dimness and her nose discovered a new smell- wood and varnish, and she tried to focus on those things even as her heart began beating furiously in her chest as she slowly made her way down the stairs.

…..

He glanced up from his work when it seemed to be taking her a long time to descend the stairs, and when he saw her face, he realized his mistake. A dark cave with a single exit. He could've head slapped himself for the mistake.

"You see the coffee upstairs?"

She took his comment not for what it secretly was- a chance to change the surroundings without making a big deal about it. But she shook her head and came down the rest of the way. 

"And miss asking you about this?" To his pleasure, she bypassed the boat and went to the work table in the corner. "Shop Smith, right?" His eyebrows went up at her knowledge. "My dad had one of these," she grinned.

A lazy smile tugged at his mouth. "Pretty sure every dad in the 50s had one."

Her hand slowly brushed along the top, a touch he could almost feel. He watched her sweep her eyes over the tool, bright and curious. 

"I love it. Is it your dad's?"

"No." He didn't elaborate on the complicated relationship and he was grateful she didn't push. 

She caught his silent thanks and said, "This is your space, Gibbs. I'm not going to analyze you here."

"So you admit to doin' it."

Her shrug didn't distract him from her smirk. "I admit to nothing." 

He grunted but turned back to the work table and dumped out the screws from a Mason jar. Reaching under the table, he pulled out a bottle and cracked the seal. Half her attention was on him while the other half looked around the rest of the basement, taking in the tools and tins that represented a lifetime. When her eyes caught the old recliner in the corner, he handed her the whiskey.

"You're doin' it right now."

Caught, she took the jar and said, "I can't help it."

"Mmmm." He pinned her with his blue eyes but grinned and held up his drink. "To things we shouldn't do but do anyway."

Her eyes widened with mirth. "Oh, _that's_ a dangerous toast," she mused as she touched his glass with hers before taking a drink. "Mmm, that's smooth. Very nice."

Seeing her glance around the basement again, he opted for directness this time. "You okay down here?"

"Yeah. Just have to fight old reflexes." He nodded and she tilted her head to look at him with a new understanding. "You've been there."

It was a conclusion not a guess, and that was part of the reason he decided to be honest. That and the fact he found he wanted to give her something of him. Downing the whiskey and putting the jar back on the table, he said, "Paraguay. Two months." She reached out for his sleeve and he shook his head at the softness in the gesture. "Nothin' compared to what you went through, what that little girl went through."

The softness turned to a determined pull. "Hey. Who are we to judge what's easy?" She waited until she had his full attention, then her touch went soft again. "Only the person carrying the weight can say how heavy it is." Fearing it sounded a bit too therapy-talk, she added, "You can carve that into a piece of wood or something."

He chuckled at the deflection. "It'd be an awfully big piece of wood."

The potential for a double entendre seemed endless, but it was a temptation she resisted. "Oh, I'm not touching that one." She heard the unintended innuendo in her words and shook her head. "I can't believe I just said that." 

She covered her blush by downing her drink, and when she handed him her jar, his fingers covered hers. Her shifting gaze from his eyes to his mouth to his hand brought him closer, drawing her into his gravitational pull of warmth and safety. Her fingers relinquished their hold on his sleeve and curled into the hoodie's front pocket while she focused on anything other than his eyes. She chose the hollow of his throat where she could concentrate on the faint outline of his heart beat at the vee of the sweater. His free hand came up to brush her hair back, a gesture he had fought earlier in the day, and when she turned her jaw into the touch, he couldn't smother the low groan that came from his chest. But even as she kissed his palm, he suspected the timing wasn't quite right. 

"More?" he asked, claiming the glass but offering a different kind of option in the question. 

She thanked him with her eyes and a smile. "Not right now, if that's okay."

"I told you, anything you want." The reminder had the added touch of heat that burned her lungs even if she shivered. "Sweater on the chair." He lifted his chin towards the corner, and when she threw on the oversized hoodie, his stomach dropped and hit him right in the groin. She flipped her hair out of the hood in a way that was nothing more than casual but singed his throat, making his mouth go dry. He picked up the planer again and tried to channel his attention back to the boat. 

"I went over the Porsic file," she said as she settled into the recliner. Adjusting the blanket over her legs, she asked, "How's it going?"

He tried to ignore how easy she worked her way into his basement and his chair and how she so seamlessly fit into both. "Chasin' our tails," he said. Wisps of wood floated to the floor around his feet. "Sent the sketch to the locals in Easton, see if anyone recognizes him. Put out a BOLO. The car's one of half a million just like it in the area." He forced himself to pull back on his frustration, stopped himself from pouring it into his sanding. 

"If you're hoping for Sarah to give you a breakthrough, you might be disappointed." Her voice was threaded with apology. "I asked her for the first things that came to mind so it wouldn't give her brain time to filter what it thought was the most important. What she gave was your best chance at getting key information. She may remember more, but it could be weeks or months or even years."

He flicked his thumb over a spot that needed his attention. "Cold milk. Oil. Hands tied." His tone said everything he thought of the last two words.

"I know it doesn't seem like it, but there _is_ something in what she remembers. The hands tied bothers me." 

He tamped down his usual 'Ya think?' response because he knew she meant something beyond the obvious, but he did look up, only to see her snuggling deeper into the chair. "When's the last time you slept, Sloane?"

With the blanket up to her chin, she murmured, "1989?"

He laughed at hearing his own words lobbed back at him. But rather than comment, he turned back to his sanding and let the soft repetitive sounds of the planer fill the quiet basement.

…..

She woke up with a smell and a feeling she didn't recognize and sat up with a start. Her hair fell across her face but she saw enough to slow down her heart. The boat greeted her first and settled her anxiety, and it gave her time to take in the rest. A chair, a hoodie and a Mason jar that sat on his work table. She eased back at the memory. At some point in the night, he brought an extra lamp and set it up beside the chair she had curled up in, the blanket tucked around her in a way that hinted she didn't do it alone. The hoodie and the cover warmed her in the cool basement, though it was the memory of the previous night and the miracle of what it was like to get a deep sleep that warmed her the most. Still, there was enough of a stiffness in her neck to sacrifice the safe cocoon and force herself to stand. Flipping back the blanket, her feet touched the floor and she stood with all the grace of a woman who had just spent the last 7 hours sleeping in a chair, no matter how comfortable. Her hands reached toward the ceiling and it suddenly occurred to her that all was quiet. She checked her watch and couldn't imagine he had left at 8 in the morning, but then, having an idea about his tenacity when it came to an open case, it wouldn't have surprised her. Dragging herself up the stairs, she got her answer.

"Would it have killed you to let me sleep in your bed?" she asked, seeing him at his table, paper spread out, glasses on, coffee cup at the ready. He lifted his head just enough to look over the rim of the glasses. "Please," she said, knowing full well the sly thoughts going through his head, "we both know you don't sleep in the thing." Her eyes flitted over to the couch that showed obvious signs of use, then back to him with a victorious glint. 

"Come get your coffee." He lifted the cup by the rim and moved it over towards the other side of the table.

Shuffling to the table, she dropped into the chair and took in his clean-shaven jaw, combed hair and navy blue polo over the stark white T-shirt. "How many of those do you have?" she asked, using the mug to point at his outfit before taking a sip. It was black and bitter, just as she had suspected, and she almost laughed at his disappointment in the failed ruse. "I used to drink it straight when I was in the Army. Was easier."

"You mean the MREs couldn't handle your sugar habit."

"You're so funny." Her voice was in direct contrast to her words, but when he smiled, so did she. "How's your morning shaping up?" 

He looked across the table at her bedhead and sleepy eyes and reached for the coffee. Tugging it from her hand, he took a sip from the same mug before replying, "Pretty good from here."

She pursed her lips at his obvious come-on. "You're smooth, I'll give you that. I meant your schedule."

Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers behind his head. "Ripping it up and startin' from the top. Hope we got a hit on the BOLO. Trace back every damn light coloured car back to its owner until we find this guy."

"I've got an appointment this morning, but I can come by before lunch if you want."

"I want." His response was quick and meant to accept her offer, but based on the pink that suddenly tipped his ears, he heard it as a blatant confession. He covered the slip by taking another drink, then standing, and sliding the cup back to her. From his new perspective, he looked down at her casual pose, one leg bent up to her chest and the ease in which she reached for the newspaper. The hoodie swallowed her up and she looked like she'd been sitting at the table, every morning, her whole life. The image and their conversation about their day was so casually domestic that he had to take in a deep breath. The sound made her look up.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Reaching into his pocket, he looped some keys off the ring and held them out. "Lock up when you're done. Bring 'em back when you come by."

Her eyebrows wiggled. "You're going to trust me alone in your house?"

"Extra toothbrush in the bathroom. Feel free to finish the boat."

His bullet-point direction made her laugh and she held out her hand for the keys. "I'll give it a shot."

He downed the rest of the coffee and lifted his eyebrows over her shoulder. "More in the kitchen. Take your time." The possibility of her taking him up on his offer in a deeper way was something he hadn't considered in years.

She squeezed the keys, tapped her knuckles against her lips and was clearly considering the same possibility. "Okay."

"Okay." He nearly head slapped himself when he heard himself repeat the word. Covering up the uncharacteristic flub, he slipped his jacket off the back of the chair and shrugged his shoulders into it. After checking his belt for his phone, he rolled the spare keys around his finger and started for the door. 

"Be safe," she called after him.

He hand stopped on the door handle; her words were so natural, like she had been saying them to him for years. A hidden grin lifted the corner of his mouth and he thought it was a hell of a way to start the day.

…..


	4. Chapter 4

…..

They were going over the Porsic details for the third time when she walked in. Though he had his back to the elevator, a tickle in the back of his mind gave him a head's up, a kind of radar that only picked up her. Her laugh reached his ears and Leon's deep chuckle painted a picture of her arrival. But his mental image was nothing compared to the real thing when he turned around and saw her. He couldn't figure out how she could be just as stunning in his red oversized hoodie as she was in the dress that was currently turning heads. Never had he been so envious of an article of clothing that was allowed to follow every curve, from her thighs to her shoulders, and what it didn't cover only left his lips to tingle at the possibilities. The bullpen was a hushed silence of curiosity and interest when she walked up to him with a familair reusable cup and placed it on his desk. 

"Told you you'd need it again. My blend," she assured him. "Give me 5 minutes to talk to Leon and I'll be down to talk about the case." 

Though she had to know all eyes were on her, she only had eyes for him, and he'd chastise himself for basking in her attention like a teenager, but at that moment, he didn't much care.

"Yep." Somehow, he managed to make it sound terse and avoided reacting to her small pout.

She was just about to turn past Tim's desk when she said, "Hey, Cowboy," and tossed him his house keys. 

Blithely, she continued on her way, picking up whatever conversation she was having with Leon when they first came in. Leon flashed Gibbs an arched eyebrow that he pretended to ignore, a task that wasn't hard considering how his eyes only wanted to follow Jack as she made her way up the stairs. Torres craned his head to watch her ascent. 

"Wow," Torres whispered, shaking his hand like he had touched something hot.

Tim took a more seasoned approach. "Is that Dr. Sloane, Boss?"

He pulled his gaze away at the question. "Yep."

Bishop's eyes went wide. "Did she just give you your house keys?"

"Yep," he repeated, the simple word abruptly ending any further questions. "Take a breather. We'll wait 'til the doctor is in."

…..

While she didn't get the same rapt attention of the office coming down the stairs that her arrival as a stranger gave her going up, a fair few eyes glanced her way, even if his wasn't one of them, having sussed out her return seconds ahead of anyone else. He feigned interest in his computer screen until she came into his peripheral. Bishop was the first to stand.

"Eleanor Bishop," she greeted with a smile and an extended hand.

"Jacqueline Sloane, but please, call me 'Jack'."

"Tim McGee," was the next introduction to which Jack smiled.

Nick stood and came around his desk. "Special Agent Nicholas Torres. But please, call me 'Nick'."

She grinned at how the agent playfully repeated her words. "Very nice to meet you. Nick."

The exchange made Gibbs stand and bark, "Whattya got, McGee?"

Fingers flew over the keyboard until images appeared on the larger screen. Jack immediately turned her attention to the information, and she felt the team join her. 

"Not much more than we had yesterday." Tim's voice was full of apology. "BOLO came back with a few hits the locals are checking out now. We retraced both Kayla and Sarah's lives in the days leading up to their abduction. Looking for commonalities- friends of their parents, connections through school, church, hobbies. Nothing that crosses the two girls at any point. Not surprising, considering they lived 23 miles apart."

"Abby did find something interesting," Bishop said, picking up the thread. "Sarah Davis' hair sample? The one that had the lead? The District of Columbia's Water and Sewage Authority keeps track of water contaminants within 700 square miles of Washington and Abby matched up the amount of lead in the hair sample to, well, that's kinda the point. To nowhere in the DC area. The levels are higher than anything DC Water has sampled from public pipes."

Gibbs' ears picked up on the distinction. "Public."

"Right. Abby thinks the high lead content is coming directly from wherever he's holding Kayla."

Tim sorted through the information. "So it might not be coming from the water at all."

"Could be coming from the food she's eating," Jack said. "Maybe he grows a garden. A few weeks, a couple of months, maybe even a year probably wouldn't be a big deal. But 11 years?"

Gibbs pushed away the reminder of how long Sarah had been held. "Where's the lead coming from?"

Rubbing his chin, Nick said, "Gotta be paint, right? Some kind of body shop."

McGee didn't need to be told what to do next. "Using Fairfax, Falls Church and Temple Hills as points, there are 44 automotive body shops in that triangle. I'll see if I can narrow down the parameters."

While he followed up on his search, Bishop turned to Jack. "Are we sure he hasn't done this before? Like, before Sarah?"

"Profiling is never 100% accurate," Jack admitted, "but-" She faltered slightly as she tried to put her thoughts into words. "Are you familiar with the Doorway Effect?"

Bishop frowned but nodded. "Sure. It's the idea that walking into a room through a doorway is the reason people forget why they were there in the first place."

"Right. There's something about this case that's giving me that same feeling- like I'm looking at the answer, but I don't know why I was looking for it."

"A mental block," Nick said.

"Uh-huh." She turned away from the screen with its images and information and looked at Gibbs. His blue eyes looked back, curious but patient. "Our suspect, from the top: Male, most likely white, between 35 and 50. He took Sarah 11 years ago, so he's likely no older than 60 now. But given the fact he managed to abduct Kayla only 2 years ago, I'm thinking he was closer to 35 when he took Sarah."

"So he's between 45 and 50 now," Bishop surmised.

Nick's brows met. "What changes someone so much that he's riding through his 20s like, 'Hey, I'm living a normal life', then hits 35 and-" He snapped his fingers.

Jack shrugged. "Any number of life-changing events. Death of a loved one. Divorce. Something as simple as having access he didn't have before. Maybe he bought a house, which he would certainly need to pull off something like this. Can't chance the landlord coming over to check on the place if you're committing a long-term crime."

"So white male, between 45 and 50, with his own home."

Jack agreed with Bishop's assessment. "And old-fashioned. Why else use rope when anyone else would likely use handcuffs or zip-ties? Sarah said it was rope that made her wrists itch."

"Sisal rope," Gibbs said, watching her pick up steam.

"Yes!" She tapped her temple, waiting for her brain to catch up to the thought that was forming. "Does anyone have any rope?"

Though it was an unusual question, Nick had an answer. Reaching behind his desk, he grabbed his backpack and pulled out a tightly wound bolt of rope. Though his teammates looked on in confusion, Jack's eyes went wide with delight.

"Sterling Helix, Agent Torres? This is some nice rope."

The fact she recognized the brand and quality brought a smile to his face. "You climb, Dr. Sloane?"

"Race you up Silver Spot sometime." The mention of the tough climb in nearby Carderock made Torres grin. "I know it's pricey, but do you mind if I cut this?" He agreed with a shrug. "Great." Glancing around, she asked, "Does anyone have a knife?" Four blades appeared, and she jumped. "Oh!"

"We have rules," Torres said by way of explanation. 

"I see that." Having her choice, she took Gibbs', measured out a length of rope and cut it. "Why rope?" she asked, almost to herself. "Agent McGee, do we have photos of Sarah Davis' wrists?"

"We do." He typed in some commands and the photos were added to the screen.

Seeing her frown and her studied expression, Gibbs came to stand beside her. "What are ya thinkin', Jack?"

Rather than answer, she turned into him. "Hold out your hands." When he did what he was told, she rested part of the rope over his wrists. Mindful of his own experiences, she asked, "Are you okay with this?" 

"Whatever you need." 

He looked down with rapt attention as she began to curl the rope into a knot. The other three agents looked on with similar interest. It only took her a minute to complete the knot, yet despite the attempt, Jack stood back and shook her head. Without a word, she undid the ties and tried another formation. That, too, was met with dismay. 

Bishop leaned into Torres and barely whispered, "Is it wrong that I find this is kinda hot?"

Gibbs looked down into Jack's soft hair and pretended he didn't hear Bishop's words. While he wouldn't admit to finding it 'kinda hot', he did find himself entranced by Jack's focus and attention. Her fingers deftly turned straight rope into complex knots, some he hadn't even seen himself. She paused when yet another attempt failed to satisfy her, but like a light dimmer slowly being turned up, he saw her expression slowly change. She snapped her fingers and tapped his wrists. 

"You see the marks on her arms?" she asked no one in particular as she started a new idea.

"Sure," Nick replied for them all.

Finding the mid-mark of the length and doubling the rope, she began looping it around Gibbs' wrist, singular, instead of both at once. "My mistake was thinking he tied both hands together, like most people would. But," she continued, as she finished up the knot, "he tied them separately. Like this." She held out her hands to showcase her work. Gibbs' left hand was tied in an intricate knot that left the ends loose. Holding them up, she said, "These then get tied to the bed or a pole or whatever he needs."

Tim narrowed his eyes at the rope. "Sounds overly complicated for a simple restraint."

"It's not about how easy or hard it is to do," she said. "It's about-" She froze and looked off to the side. 

"What's it-"

She placed her hand on Gibbs' chest to silence him. It was clear the epiphany was creeping up on the edge of her mind and she was waiting for it to take form. "Agent Bishop, you asked me if I was sure he hadn't done this before." She wagged her finger in the air in an attempt to jumpstart her thought process. "He hasn't. At least, not directly. But he's _seen_ it done before."

"You mean like a copycat?" Nick suggested. 

"A copycat of what?" Tim asked. "There's nothing specific about this case to copy."

She shook her head, even if she didn't quite have the answer at hand. "He's seen it done before," she repeated. Her eyes went to Gibbs' wrist, still bound by the rope. Unaware she was doing it, she began tracing the line with her finger, circling up to the knot. "Yes!" Quickly, she undid the knot and loosened the rope, only to wind it around his wrist again, in a different manner. "Agent McGee, look up Gregor Reiss."

Tim's eyes went to Gibbs who only nodded. "Gregor Reiss," McGee repeated, then went silent.

Nick came around McGee's desk. "Don't keep us in suspense, man."

Tim gestured to the screen with his chin. "Gregor Reiss, convicted in 2002 for the abduction and confinement of Julia Brightman."

Though they all dreaded the answer, Bishop asked, "How long?"

"Fifteen years."

Gibbs squeezed his eyes shut. Nick glanced at Jack. "I'm not following."

Tim anticipated Jack's direction and put a handful of photos on the large monitor. They all looked at the images and began to make the connections. The young girl with the long brown hair could have been Kayla Porsic's twin, and she herself bore a striking resemblance to Sarah Davis. But the kicker was when Bishop looked at Gibbs' wrist.

"The knots are the same."

Nick conceded the point, but added, "That happened in Sacramento. So it _is_ a copycat."

"Yes," Jack said, "but not in the way you think. I remember this case well. He had a son."

Tim filled in the rest. "Stefan Reiss. Fourteen years old at the time of the abduction, which is why he didn't do any jail time when the police arrested his father. That, and the psychologists who spoke with him said he had 'a fractured sense of right and wrong based on a childhood raised in an amoral household'." His expression passed judgment on the assessment. 

Jack held up her hands. "Hey, don't look at me, I didn't treat him. And that wouldn't have been _my_ conclusion."

Gibbs cut through the clutter to get to the heart of the matter. "Where is he now?"

"Fell off the face of the map after his dad was arrested in 2002. He avoided the state's social services long enough until he turned 18 and was no longer considered a ward of the state. At which point," his fingers typed in more commands, "he changed his name to Steven Reid."

"Where is he _now_ , Tim?" Gibbs repeated the question with such force that Jack put her hand against his chest once more to soothe his impatience.

Though his anger startled Jack, Tim was no stranger to his boss's frustrated outbursts and knew not to take it personally. "Boss," he said, "he's in Mosby."

"Just outside Falls Church," Nick said grimly.

"And he owns a car crushing company. I got the address."

"Grab your gear," Gibbs barked. As the three agents began following the order, he started tugging at the knot on his wrist. Softly, she laid her hands on his, stopping his attempt and gently freeing him from the rope. He thanked her with a look, then said, "You're with me." He grabbed his badge and his gun, only to see her still rooted to the spot. "Sloane. You're ridin' with me."

"I'm not-" She waved her hand around the room.

He understood her surprise and brushed it aside as he came around his desk. "Not officially, but until we catch this bastard, you're on my team. And if this is the guy like my gut says it is, Kayla Porsic's gonna need you." McGee, Bishop and Torres were already at the elevator. Gibbs tilted his head in their direction. "You comin'?"

"Damn right, I'm coming," she said, knowing she'd follow him to Hell and back.

…..

It wasn't Hell, but it was a sickening place they pulled into, 30 minutes later. The house was unassuming, a simple two-storey home that looked well-kept and maintained. The hedges were trimmed, the garbage cans neat, and the sidewalk an inviting path to the front door. A longer drive went almost 50 yards behind the house, far enough to shield the business and the noise from the road. Jack looked at the house and imagined all that went on inside.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

The question startled her from her thoughts. "Yeah." With a bit more conviction, she said it again. "Yeah."

He nodded and got out of the car. Looking over the roof, he said, "McGee, Torres, check out the junkyard. Bishop, go around back." The three agents nodded. To Jack, he said, "You stay behind me, got it? Every second." He waited for her to nod before jerking his head towards the house. "Let's go."

…..

It happened so quickly it was almost in slow-motion. The door swung open and the sight of Gibbs standing there was all the sign Steven Reid needed to make a run for it. 

"Bishop!"

The back door slammed and the sound of a body hitting the ground happened in a quick, consecutive order, and both Gibbs and Jack arrived just in time to see Bishop squeeze the handcuffs on Reid.

"Maybe I should get some rope, huh?" she growled into his ear, her small frame a ball of fury as she pressed her knee harder between his shoulder blades. His face pushed deeper into the dirt, surrounded by a garden of tomatoes.

McGee and Torres heard the commotion and came running back. Gibbs holstered his weapon. "You three stay here," he told them. He looked at Jack. "You ready?"

She nodded and followed him into the house and down the stairs to a basement that they both knew only served one purpose. A lightbulb overhead illuminated the door but also his features that seemed to have gotten more angular and sharp as they descended the steps. When they reached the bottom, she touched his arm.

"I want you to take a deep breath," she said. "She's here and I guarantee you, she's alive, okay? Let the adrenaline fade. Loosen that jaw, Cowboy."

He looked off to the side, unlocking his jaw and inhaling deeply. His attention returned to the door but with less anger and more relief. Unsurprisingly, when his hand turned the knob, he found it locked. When he opened his mouth to speak, Jack stopped him again.

"She might need to hear a woman's voice," she whispered. Louder, but gently, she spoke into the door. "Kayla? I'm with the police." 

"Let me out!!" A thump hit the other side of the door. Her fists began pounding the wood. "Please!! Please!!"

"Kayla, you're safe but I need you to move away from the door, okay, sweetheart? We need to kick the door open. Can you move away for me?"

There was a moment of silence before the girl answered, this time, her voice farther away. "Okay. Please, hurry!"

Gibbs stepped back and mentally ordered his knee to hold strong as he gave the spot under the door knob one solid kick. It splintered as it flew back, slamming into the wall. He stopped it from swinging back and hitting Jack as she rushed into the room. If either thought there would be trepidation from the girl at seeing two strangers, that was quickly dismissed when she threw herself into Jack's waiting arms. Jack closed her eyes to the surroundings, the rope, the bed, the horror and just focused on the sobbing girl, gently rocking her back and forth.

"It's okay, baby girl, it's okay."

Jack opened her eyes just long enough to see Gibbs lean against the door frame, head back, eyes closed. He exhaled for what felt like the first time in ages.

…..

The cool air was a relief against her skin, but as the arrival of evening tapped her shoulder, she wondered how long she should stay. Almost on cue, his truck pulled into the driveway alongside her car, and she stood to greet him, her smile inviting him home. His feet brought him to the bottom step, and the height difference brought them almost equal. 

"How long have you been out here?" 

Though it was a legitimate question, it was really just an excuse to have time to look at her. She seemed to be fully aware of it, because her answer was slow and easy.

"Not too long. Maybe an hour? I figured you'd be late."

"Just came back from Sarah's. Told her about Kayla."

Jack brushed her fingertips over his ear and it brought his eyes to hers. He looked tired. "It's over."

"Not for them," he said. "They'll live with that for the rest of their lives."

She nodded. "Sure. But by finding Steven Reid, you've given them the chance to go to bed at night knowing he'll never hurt them again. Not everyone gets that closure."

Reminded of her history, he leaned into her touch to offer his silent support. Her fingers reached the nape of his neck and he submitted to the gentle tug that brought his nose to rest under her ear. His shoulders sagged under her touch and he breathed her in.

"Should probably go inside," he said at last. "Before Mrs. McGregor calls the cops."

Her laugh tickled his ear. "She already came over to see who I was. Said you were such a nice man. I think she's got a little crush on you."

"She's 96 years old."

"She's 96, not dead," Jack objected. "Besides, can you blame her when she's got a silver fox living across the street?"

He pulled back far enough to scowl. "I'm goin' in." He slowly untangled himself from her loose embrace but was privately pleased when he felt his jacket in her fist as he singled out the house key from the rest. "You could've gone inside, you know."

She shrugged. "Still doesn't feel right. Besides, I forgot to put the spare key back."

"Guess I'll just hafta get one for you." 

He dropped that little bomb like he was talking about the weather, and it left her standing on the doorstep in shock. The keys were tossed into the bowl and his jacket was off by the time she blinked herself back to the present. His smirk tattled on him, telling her he knew exactly what he had done, but before she could call him on it, he said, "Gimme 5 minutes. Need a shower."

She nodded and watched him slowly march up the stairs.

…..

It took longer than 5 minutes, because when the hot water hit him, he succumbed to the comfort. Not only did it loosen his tightness but it washed away the grime of the day, literally and figuratively. He stepped out of the shower feeling lighter, the residuals of his dark mood swirling down the drain. 

It took longer than 5 minutes, but he was sure it wasn't much more, which was why he couldn't figure out why the downstairs smelled so good. He saw her from behind, working in the small space of his kitchen, adding something to a pot he hadn't used in years. Though his step was quiet, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled before returning to the stove. He leaned over the pot and inhaled. 

"That all from my fridge?"

She grinned. "I'm a sucker for those cooking shows that make a 3-course meal out of 2 olives, a half-eaten drumstick and a slice of processed cheese."

"What was I missing?"

"The 2 olives."

The banter bloomed warmth in his chest, and the domesticity he had felt that morning came back with a familiar comfort.

"Smells amazing."

"Thank you. It just needs to simmer for a bit. Can you wait 20 minutes?"

He reached into the fridge, pulled out 2 beer bottles and leaned against the counter. "I'm sure I can find something to keep me occupied."

She turned to see him soaking her in. "After you finish ogling me, what will you do with the other 17 minutes?"

"Nah," he said as he popped both bottle caps. "I could look at you all day."

The admission caught her by surprise and painted pink across her cheeks. She took a long pull from the bottle to cover her blush. He did the same, but never took his eyes off of her. She swayed a little, looking for the right words on the floor. 

"Leon offered me a job."

"I know. I was the one who suggested it."

"Why would you do that?" It was an honest question, not an accusation.

"Because I saw what you did today. Saw how you handled Sarah. You did good work. You _do_ good work." She lifted her head at his honest assessment. "I need that on my team. I _want_ you."

Though it wasn't meant in a sexual way, it brought her real concern to the fore. "I don't know if we can work _and_ sleep together."

He took another drink, then smirked. "Who says we're gonna sleep together?"

She put her bottle on the counter and tugged him to her by his hoodie pocket. "Oh, we're definitely sleeping together."

His bottle joined hers and he switched places with her so that she was against the counter. "That a fact?"

Her nose nuzzled his jaw. "An inevitability, really."

Her matter of factness brought a low rumble from his chest. With his hands around her waist, he lifted her onto the counter, even as she let out a small protesting squeal. 

"Good thing you're small, Sloane. Not sure my knees could handle much else." She laughed against his mouth and he'd swear it had been decades since he'd heard a sound so sweet and yet so damn sexy. Without any preamble, he kissed her, hard and sure, his hands in her hair, her hands gripping his hoodie. She tasted like coffee and broth and felt like something to curl up in. Her teeth held his bottom lip hostage for a moment, and her show of strength nearly dropped him to his knees. His hands slowly lowered, fingers outstretched to touch as much as he could on their way to her jeans. Unbidden, her hands switched places, finding a new home in the short hair behind his ears. It was only when his fingers slipped under her shirt that she stiffened.

He knew exactly why, and slowed his kiss to allow himself to speak. "I know, Jack." Her mouth turned away from his and she burrowed her face into his neck. "I'm not gonna hurt you." His fingers inched up, but only enough to ask permission. "I'm not gonna judge you."

He had laid bare the crux of it, had gotten to the heart of the matter in his straightforward way. He knew well enough it was easy to build the walls to prevent hurt. But it was something else to wonder if people were judging choices you made in the worst moments of duress, or questioning your strength, or worse, pitying you. He would do none of those things and he wondered if anyone had thought to make her that promise. Or had meant it with the same conviction he was promising now. 

She accepted his word with a kiss, laying bare her vulnerability with her mouth and her moan, and he doubled down on his promise by covering the breadth of her back with his hands, by exploring as much of her skin as the stretch of his fingers would allow. The slow path found its way to her shoulders and he broke the kiss only as long as it took to lift the shirt over her head. She guided his mouth to her neck and rested her head against the cupboard behind her as he laid a trail from her ear to her shoulder. Blindly, she reached out for him, not for his hoodie but his sweatpants, pressing her palm against him, measuring him with the trace of her finger. He twitched under her touch and his breath stuttered along her skin.

"We really gonna do this here?" he managed to get out.

She opened her eyes and took in their surroundings. The kitchen was lit only by a small night light and the lamp from the dining room. The soup simmered quietly on the stove and the entire place smelled of broth and wood and coffee and him. Of a place she could call home.

Bringing her knees down from his waist and rubbing her feet along his calves, she said, "Not with these knees."

"Don't make me rethink cuttin' you that key, Sloane."

His voice was stern but his eyes were full of light and she couldn't help but kiss him again.

"Oh, I think you're going to like having me around, Special Agent Gibbs."

…..

-end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the development of the case is rushed, but these stories are never really about the case; they're about the characters. I hope you enjoyed!


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